Page 33 of Out of the Blue

I can’t believe it’s been months since I’ve written to you, Dear Diary. So sorry. Let me catch you up. Well, my night with Braxton certainly changed my life. I can’t believe it still, but it’s true. The doctor confirmed it. I’m pregnant! Since I wasn’t with anyone else before or after him, I know Braxton Hunte is the father of my baby. Gloria’s the only person I’ve told. My twin promised to take my secret to the grave. She came with me to a bunch of Hunte concerts where I tried to catch his attention again, but I never did. Now that I’m showing, I’m sure he’ll never pick me again.

Gloria keeps chiding me to tell him, but why? I’ve always wanted to be a mother, and I already love this little life growing inside of me. I can be both a mother and a father. Besides, I’ve written to Braxton several times, but I’ve never heard back. I wonder if his team even gave him my letters.

The diary continues, but I can’t read another word. This poor woman—Trent’s mother. She found herself in an impossible situation and did the best she could. I can’t imagine how I would’ve managed if I’d gotten knocked up by one of the many men who’ve passed through my life for a quick tryst. I hope I’d have dealt with a baby better than Mamá, but who knows?

I snap the book shut and place it at my side.

Chapter 11 - Trent

Istand at the French doors, holding the curtains back. My gaze doesn’t register Boston, with its churches and green spaces. No, I don’t see anything in front of me. My whole being is back in my room, on the sofa. Reading my mother’s diary.

Why did I share it withher, of all people? Not Dwight, my best friend. Not with any of the great guys in my group.

She flips the page and my body tenses. And I know why. Because she’s never pitied me. Even when I told her my mother was killed by a mall shooter. It wasn’t pity. No. It was understanding. And I need some fucking understanding right now. After all,herphoto triggered my meltdown.

Tonight, Braxton handed me a Bud. My favorite beer. And his. We share that. Plus, we both use our thumbs to cover the open tops. Not to mention our matching eye color. If I didn’t share this with her tonight—or at least with someone—I was going to explode.

I remember how I manhandled her out of the green room and to the hotel. Guess I sort of did explode.

She turns another page.

It’s over. She knows. She knows Braxton Hunte is my father. The clock ticks backward.

A hand lands on my shoulder. I refuse to move. I can’t.

Her swallow makes an audible sound. “Some reading material you have there.”

I tip my chin upward.

“He doesn’t know?”

“No.” I sound like a dying frog, but I don’t care. Nothing matters.

Even though she remains at my side, she reaches out to hold the other curtain back, mimicking how I’m standing. “Does anyone else know?”

I shake my head.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

I slam my eyes shut. “Thanks.”

“Now I know why you were so unhappy with the photo I posted tonight.”

My eyes slowly open. “Yes.”

We both remain at the French doors, facing the twinkling Boston skyline. I’m not seeing anything. Nothing matters anymore.

Her side of the curtain flutters back into place. A feminine hand squeezes my shoulder, and she nudges me to turn around. With her right hand on my forearm, she guides me to the sofa where the diary sits. She moves it and we both sink into the blue fabric. After tucking her hair behind her ear, she begins with a story I wasn’t prepared for. “My father was a total deadbeat.”

I look at her. She nods.

“In the eyes of the law and our family, he was the worst. When I was five, he went to jail for grand larceny and other gang-related charges. Mamá took me to visit him every week until he died there the next year. He never cared about me.” She wraps some of her hair around her finger.

Her eyes get a faraway look. “Right after he died, my mother shacked up with a long line of guys. She got pregnant with my sister—”

“The one in beauty school?”

“Yeah. Juanita. Anyway, he bolted before Juanita was born. She’s sort of been my responsibility ever since. Mamá kept bouncing from one guy to the next, but never got remarried.” She scoots her ankle under her thigh. “Doesn’t mean they weren’t in our house more than we were.”

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